Perhaps
by whatslynettedoin
Summary: He had no right to hurt her. No one has a right to hurt her this way, and still, make her love them.


_Perhaps_ it was the way he talked without any care in the world. Any word dance off his mouth in such sounding delicacy, only he knew it slipped.

_Perhaps_ it was the way he held himself through a crowd. The posture of his giving off such elegance and poise that no others can match.

_Perhaps_ it was the way he acted towards the loved souls around him. Only he knows how his empathy stretched beyond distance and limits.

* * *

_**Perhaps**_

The mind of a woman, a wife who knows that love is a sham is always racing with regret. Love is a constant limbo of waking up only to please the other person. Unbeknownst to what you want for the sake of them. That's what she liked to believe even now. That any action or movement he did didn't affect her at all. It altered everything in her world. Everything he has given, offered, granted to her was a facade to their failing marriage-but he tried. More than she did.

How dare Draco Malfoy attempt to fix whatever they have left when it was his fault they are in this constant, and misery of days?

It made her scoff at times whenever Hermione Granger thought about them, only them. How she could see him in an instant inside an enclosed room, that is engrossed with men and women. Noises developing without mercy. He always looked oblivious to her long glimpses, or weary eyes. Never admitting it that he knew.

Or when they share a brief kiss, her lips ignite some fire. Wanting to stay like this until time finally slips through their hands like sand in the wind. The small gestures to paint any emotion makes her foolish enough to kiss deeper. It gave her hope for his love.

Reasons excuses never stop ramming into Hermione's head. Assuming the best in whatever they have is more dangerous than assuming the worst. A whisk of alcohol, gaining more tolerance each drop, didn't aid her either. The knight in shining armor trope didn't fit the liquid as much as it did before. Slowing down the gears of her brain always was a challenge. No substance quote taking effect to her dismay.

Hermione sat on the quilt of the edge of their bed. It should _only_ be their bed, right?

A miracle would be for her if it just stopped. All the lies and banter. Her fingers traced the threads slowly, and her eyes looked out the window. It was ironic in her perspective how jubilant the outside looked. She envied the individuals who found a will on going outside, rushing out to see. She has forgotten any desire of her to show her face towards anyone. The last thing she wanted was pitiful gazes pursued her way-it almost insulted her. It always left a bitter taste of her mouth whenever reassuring random strangers that all was going swell. It wasn't at all.

The clouds alluded to her, grazing the sky with its own companions. All differently shaped. They weren't damp with storms or thunder, for the clouds flaunted their white color today. The wind swayed anything it's in place, but gentle enough to not hurt them or disturb them. The wind was kind beyond words. It was bewildering to her how the plants looked greener than they ever were.

It looked like the garden below her, her own garden, was the outside's most prized possession. It glistened under the sun, alive. She remembered the few days and the first few steps in the house consisted her inside the garden.

Hermione's slim fingers grazed through each leaf and blossom. There was an unmatched grateful towards herself when she realized she was guiding herself throughout the whole time inside the garden. No one without assistance. It was a soft touch thought that the plants have always felt before her. She talked to them whenever she made the split decision to do so. All that bliss and naiveness to the future has dwindled down as time grew. Ignorance to whatever their relationship could form into was her biggest mistake out of all of them. And she had a lot.

Hermione closed her eyes, shaking her head. No need to dwell on any memory that doesn't exist anymore. It's passed, and she's in a new moment. All sulking to herself and in the presence of herself. She has never felt so silenced in her life, voiceless until every word was drained out of her throat. Most of all, in so much pain all due to a person.

She swirled the glass in her hands, hearing the intoxicating wine gushing. If she could take it all back, she would.

She was too deep into thought to even realize her startled jump towards Draco's entrance in their son's bedroom.

"I was looking for you, Hermione..." Draco began in a caring tone, approaching her in fast strides. She didn't dare look back to see his face, his pained face. _'I know what you do when I'm not here' _ she thought sadly. Why couldn't she confront him? To not spare him any more of the disgusting truth and reality to their marriage? That gut feeling that everything will get better appears whenever she hears him. It scorned her that there was a possibility of everything working out.

That everything will fall into place, the puzzle will be solved, and they can be saved. It's so distinct though.

"Ginny and Harry are off to that beach resort they were talking about not too long ago." Draco stopped in his tracks. He didn't catch the absence of their child in his own bedroom. How neat the toys looked, color-coded and matched to its brand. The rug fell onto the floor not having one ruffle or bump. Finally, the made bed. He mentally slapped himself to not realize that his own son was gone. He recalled at that moment on when Hermione explained the plans about Scorpius' vacation with the Potters. And also the proposition she made on how they could on their own trip themselves. He never got back to her for it. He never does.

Way to skeptical on how busy himself is in work, working becoming easy as breathing at this point. Old habits die hard as they say, and Draco willingly attached himself to work. It was an escape from that tensed air with Hermione these past few months…

"You know.," Hermione spoke again, her voice wavering from standing up too quickly. She turned sharply to meet his eyes. The robes of her flowed behind her as she folded her arms-more in need of some closure. Some walls or block. She couldn't look away nonetheless. Can he stop looking like that at her way? "I wanted to go out of ourselves too, maybe Italy?" She drank a sip, their gazes never snapping. It was a game of chicken, to who could look away first. Hermione chuckled. "We can go another time, Draco-"

It was misshapen of words, and it was to only harm him. In all cases, taunt him to anything he does. Draco stood there with brows raised at Hermione, slowly regulating his eyes towards the almost vacant glass of wine. He felt intimidated at her slick silhouette gazing at him still.

He had no upper position or influence to tell her to stop drinking, specifically inside their kid's bedroom. Inside his mind, he was begging her to move than say. To not start anything that can't be extinguished by a kiss or a simple sorry. It was too much to ask. Way too much. The troubles he has erupted through a line wasn't acceptable, to say the least. Outrunning his regrets and consequences is a battle no one wants to fight. Draco was tired to keep ignoring everything.

If he could, he would let all become obscure. Only being a buzz in his ears, a shadow in his eyes, and void in his touch. It was simple that way. It's not even a balance if he chose to do so, to let it all fade away. Reflecting off his neglecting behavior to a bigger extent means he can lose Hermione, Scorpius...and her. It paralyzed him to the strands of his hair, to the heels of his feet to know that no one else is at fault.

Blame is heavy on him, and he bloody knew it. It sunk him deeper and deeper to some abyss that makes him doubt himself, drain any recollective emotion, and empathy ceased to exist. He didn't want it to be that way.

"Hermione," Draco reached out of her hands, and she didn't react. "I'm busy, trying to help Potter with training the new Aurors and such…"

"You're always busy, I know," Hermione responded, stifling a shudder as his skin touched hers. Reactions can mean the world, the universe, the sun and stars to someone. Realizing that someone can make her vulnerable to her last flesh and muscle wasn't comforting. She shouldn't react like this, it only showed him how much of a fight she's putting up. She felt like a blank canvas whenever in the presence of Draco, and every slash of paint or color is from his words. He can make her feel vivid emotions in a matter of seconds, and she hated it. She despised it in every being of he_r_. He can go away for days and do it again.

He shouldn't have much impact on her this easily. It's not fair!

Draco didn't get it of course, too concerned with Hermione's eyes than to notice that hitched breath of hers. Throughout their marriage, he picked up on certain cues and signals. It came down to his own subconscious whether or not pick them up and use them for his own good. Intrigued was a weak word to describe Draco at first towards Hermione.

She was too good for him, way too over heels for him. It sickened him that he couldn't measure his love from hers. Partially, it was elsewhere in the world. In another home, in another heart's, in another person's. Love is deserved and earned like other righteous feelings. He didn't deserve any of it.

"Hermione, please." He pleaded out in a soft mumble. Not another brawl or quarrel that only descends their marriage. It's the last of his wishes, and will always be. It's funny how Draco thinks of no ideal when going to _her_. The other woman. It's beyond humorous in fact, to plead such forgiveness without even saying sorry.

The room, four walls surrounding them-had a marvelous blue tint onto it. With accents in white that illustrated how grand the room is. It was planned to its last cent or galleon. It was dainty as might as some say. It endured many of their arguments, in dismay of the purpose of the room. It's their son's room, and they're arguing in it. Sometimes the walls have felt itself rumble with echoes from rising voices, crashing objects, and muffled cries.

Draco and Hermione didn't care though on how vicious they could be when the anger finally rushed into their veins. Replacing that usual adrenaline.

"Hermione, please?" Hermione said in a questioning tone. Did he assume the future already? That something bad will happen that leaves them in slammed doors, and an ongoing vow for silence.

"Hermione, I know you wanted the weekend off," Draco said, letting go of her arms. The warmth of her slim fingers seemed to burn through his suit even without them on his arm.

"I did, Draco but you are busy as you say. And as always, I understand."

Draco's shoulders hunched in response and not even a second passed by before he inhaled a sharp take of breath. Biting his own tongue didn't seem to comply with his wishes whenever he wanted to stop himself from talking. Just so he could buy more time to think. He just brushed his finger upon his nose, pinching it to reveal that he was tired. Beyond tired and beyond words.

"Just say it, Hermione. That you're mad at me for not even trying to make plans."

"I'm not mad." She responded hastily.

At a loss of his words, Draco couldn't comprehend how much she stretched a lie.

"We can go another time, next month? And we can go to Blaise's family." Draco explained.

"You might be busy."

Can she fucking stop saying busy? Any individual who has been graced with her being is well aware of how dignified she is on herself. A word, so bland, shouldn't be so striking or harmful as it is coming from her mouth. She made it different, she shaped it to fit her anger. Chances fueled by it.

"I'm not always busy, you out all of the people should know that," Draco remarked, emphasizing people at the moment. His face fell altogether when she scoffed.

"I'm the last to know if you're busy or not, Draco." Her fists curled tightly against the cup, and the bones under the skin cracked under the tampering silence.

"Don't," Draco begged, taking a few step backs. The inches between them couldn't prevent anything coming soon.

"Why don't you?" It fell out of her mouth, and it was far too late. It irked her how irrational they can both be. They could never meet in the middle, be on the same page or do anything without some type of aggression.

"Hermione, if you want to bloody say something then say it."

Her mouth parted open to reply, but any confidence doing so hindered. She didn't want to hurt herself, him, or anyone anymore. She's tired too. It brings up the question who's tired more. It didn't feel right to answer in any means. She felt herself chip at her own thoughts while standing. He wouldn't understand, never in the world will he try too. He would act innocent as if no fault has embedded his way. An argument flagged down with such fragility. They're both constantly aware of how furious they were.

"I have nothing to say. I'll-"

"I won't ask again, Hermione." The fluster in his tone terrified her, drilling shivers down her spine. Don't speak, react, move. Just look at him and tell him. The complexity of that idea is too much to grasp at this moment, as her chest rose up and down, her eyes locked onto him, and her feet rooted to the ground. They could go back and forth until it dawned to them how stupid they were. How reckless and destroying they were of each other.

It's like they were poison.

"I have nothing to say actually…"

"Yes, you do!"

Snapping this early on is a gem to be left in the dust, never uncovered to reach daylight. Until now. It didn't occur to her at that second how mad she has gotten so quickly. Holding back now is a lost opportunity. The last glimmer of hope to save a marriage breaking under erosion.

She set down her cup harshly, retracting her hands once feeling the wine spoil out of the cup. The feet of Hermione's pressured her to stay grounded, and aware of any instinct but she moved towards him. Hermione pointed at him, not caring about how it shook in his eyes. She had a defiant look on her face as they finally looked at each other, only breaths away.

Speckles of tears performed meekly under her eyes as she defied them to drop. Everything was entangled, nothing to straighten it out. It pained her to confess to him, in such a manner like this. It was expected, well in her delusional mind during those restless hours, that she didn't have to tell him about the affair. The other woman. The other person he _loved_. There was this light at the end of a tunnel, and they were going to be ok.

She was calculating every insult she could throw, anything to hurt him to mimic how he hurt her! Mirror things for once in their lives. In their piteous marriage. The tension gradually ascending in her flesh tightened her down, leading her to just point at him. Shakily.

He had no right to hurt her. No one has a right to hurt her this way, and still, make her love them.

"You know…" Hermione started, surpassing any resistance anymore. "I'm tired, Draco. Looking at you, and knowing what you do every time I leave. Feeling as though love is as artificial." Pure raw emotion guilted her to keep talking. "I know you are too…"

It was the last of her worries whether or not to study his expression.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" Draco whispered. She broke out a heavy sigh, combing through the frizzies and curls of her hair. He deserved this! He deserves to get his heartbroken too!

"You love her more than me and Scorpius." Such a broad statement that had links to every memory that can prove it. The way he walked out of dinners hastily to perform some 'duty' at work. The sleepless nights of his before coming back. The relaxed face of his when he actually sees _her_. Everything she said compromised him, burnt him to the last lies he could tell. Speechless.

A forbidden memory engulfed her brain, seizing Hermione momentarily. It was a bashful night, looming with elegant lights. A gala to remember for ages. It flooded her, the clink of glasses and the laughter to follow it. The shuffling of feet, in order to dance, walk, move. In cue of the music. How marvelous it was cannot be described so easily. For those who were there, that time, can't feel anything but enlightenment. Almost obsessed in the euphoria of it all. To remember it is bittersweet.

No object was left that didn't show the exquisite taste of the hosts, draped in gold carvings, abstract drawings, redeemed artifacts. Albeit, no one noticed-in depth of the social side of the gala.

It was supposed to be jubilant.

That night she cried. Acting as if no one heard her-it was a feverish thing to think so. She knew he knew. Though, he didn't obligate to care or comfort her at all. Draco knew no meaning, or reason as to why she was crying. It was deemed better to let her get it out without disruptions. It didn't brew more chaos. Their departure at such a dawning rate angered him as well, presumed to be sulking on his own.

Every pause she took to catch her breath, as the tears fell generously-blossomed louder. Maybe he'll come to her. He didn't although, Hermione left to bewail at the comfort of her library. The books she longed for years, tucked in colossal shelves glared at her. It was terrifying in her eyes that they no longer granted comfort...

She hated the way Draco introduced their son to her, his hand tightly on the woven threads of _her_ dress. She saw it in his eyes, how he wished it was this way. Those three, her never in the picture. She was the mother, the one to bear his child and raise him. It's the capability of raising a child that truly beamed her love, Hermione's love. Not one soul, roaming on their world-destroyed-can replicate that.

Hermione realized what she has done, brows furrowing. The room blossomed a harsh breeze as they stood in silence. It took her a second to fathom that sentence. Wordlessly, she left the room. Anything they have built, sustained, founded that relished so many events has broken. She has broken it. Perhaps she still loved him.


End file.
